


Nights of Mordor

by Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves



Series: Nights of Midde-earth [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Captivity, Chains, Dungeon, Elves, Forced Orgasm, Imprisonment, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves/pseuds/Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordor warlords prefer blondes, or What awaits a captive Mirkwood elf.<br/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of my first Tolkien fanfic, written in Russian in 2002 and introducing my original elf character Gilmorn. Since then Gilmorn became very famous - or rather infamous - in Russian Tolkien fandom and appeared in many fanfics (by me and several other writers). There was no such character in any of the works by J.R.R.Tolkien or in the movies.
> 
> There are 5 chapters in 'Mordor Nights', the whole series consist of many various 'Nights', such as 'Nights of Rivendell' and so on. I hope to get them translated too.  
> This translation is being done for the most part by [Jem4ujina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jem4ujina), with my contribution and severe editing (author's [_droit du seigneur_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Droit_du_seigneur), hehe).  
>  Please be lenient, both of us are not native English speakers. If you want to be an editor or offer any other help with the translation, you are most welcome.
> 
> In the whole Chapter 1 the elf is never called by his name - to make readers think the fic was about Legolas :)

He couldn’t believe it was really happening to him. He stood in the dim corridor lit by torches, barefoot on the stone floor slabs, his hands tied behind him. The coldness coming from the soles of his feet was now spreading through his entire body, chilling him to his very bones. The ceiling seemed to weigh on his shoulders. He almost physically felt the thickness of the stone above him that forever separated him from the daylight. He was in the dungeons of Mordor.

It would be better to perish in battle than to be captured alive. But he was so engaged in pursuing retreating orcs, that found himself alone when they suddenly turned around and attacked him. Other Eldar of Mirkwood were too far behind to come to his aid. That's as may be, his sacrifice wasn’t completely useless. At least he was able to distract the enemies, killed as many of them as he could, which will save many lives of the creatures of Eru Iluvatar in the future. Now he must face his doom and the impenetrable darkness of the mines of Mordor where he would be sent for sure.

A man dressed in black appeared in the corridor. The elf, who lowered his gaze before, not willing to look upon the ugly orc mugs and artless stone arches and columns, saw only his feet in knee-high boots that stopped in front of him.

He raised his head to face the enemy and was utterly surprised to find said enemy to be very tall, almost a head taller than himself. And he was never considered a shortie among the elves. Among the Mirkwood Sindar, anyway.

The man was not only tall, but also broad-shouldered. His appearance spoke of a great physical strength. There was malice burning in his green eyes on the pale face. His hair was long and raven-dark, falling down on his shoulders. He seemed... dangerous.

A black-gloved hand took the elf by the chin and raised his head. Meeting his glaring eyes made the elf shudder. There was something predatory in them. Something bloodthirsty.

“What’s your name, pretty elf?” the man asked.

The elf stepped back, jerking his head like some restive mare, flaring his nostrils in anger. No one ever talked to him this way, never addressed him so rudely. No stranger ever laid a finger on him. The elf curled his lips disdainfully and straightened, looking not on the man in front of him but through him.

“So you have a spirit, I see,” the man drawled. “I like them spirited. So much fun to break them.”

After saying that the man hit the elf in the face so suddenly, with such brutal force that his teeth clanked and his ears ringed. The blow threw the elf back to the wall. Unable to keep his balance, he collapsed to his knees.

“Put him in a cell,” the man ordered. He turned around and left.

***

The elf sat on the thin straw mattress spread on the dirty floor, shivering slightly and hugging his knees. He was thrown into a cage somewhere in the vast Mordor dungeons, stripped naked. He was chained to the wall with a thick steel bracelet around his ankle. The chain was too short for him to even brush the door with his fingertips. Even if he attacked the warden, he would still be unable to get out from the cell. Yet it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

It really bothered him to be nude. Elves were shy and fully undressed only in their own bedroom, if at all. No doubt it was done to humiliate him and crush his spirit. He decided not to yield and tried to pay no attention to his nakedness.

Suddenly he heard steps in the distance. Boots; not orcs’ soft leather moccasins. A man for sure. There was no doubt as the elf saw the flash of a torchlight. Orcs didn’t need torches, they could see in the dark without any light. A man, alone. No doubt the one from the earlier, the one with wolfish eyes.

“I won’t say a word!” the elf gloated quietly in his mind. “Let’s see how he could pry my lips open.”

He rose to his feet. At this very moment the man appeared near the cage. He put his torch in the torch holder on the wall, unlocked the door and came inside.

For a minute or so they just stood there face to face. The man eyed the elf tilting his head this way and that. The elf look at him sideways, from under his long thick eyelashes. The man had hit him before, without any provocation, even though the elf was tied up and defenseless. He could expect anything from this man.

“You, elves, braid your hair like girls,” he sneered. “It suites these pretty faces of yours.”

The elf felt the first stir of boiling anger. “Calm down”, he said to himself. “He is just trying to provoke me. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure!” Nothing showed on his face, no muscle twitched.

“You are so pretty, elf. Were you not standing here in your birthday suit I would mistake you for a girl.”

The elf kept silent. Only the slight flaring of his nostrils gave away his anger.

“Still don’t want to share your name? Well, in this case I’ll call you anything I want - pretty face, blondie or sugar.”

“I am more than two centuries old, you mortal bastard!” the elf thought, furious, but still silent. He fervently wished he had his favorite daggers with him. He would cut off the mocker’s head in a blink of an eye!

The man circled him, still staring. The elf almost felt the touch of this brazen gaze on his exposed body.

“Do you really want to keep silent and play the hero with me? It seems you still don’t get the situation you are in. Let me introduce myself then. I am the lord and master here, what I say goes. I may do with you as I please. Everything that was never done to you before, by anyone. Everything to humiliate you. To break you.”

“Filthy beast, the elves could bear such pain you mortals couldn’t even imagine!” the elf thought.

“I know what you think. What is a Secondborn capable of doing that can surprise you. Whipping, branding by fire, carving by knives - so crude and ineffective. I have planned something special for both of us. Something elegant, pleasant. Not the dull butcher’s trade.”

The man was so fast the elf had no time to react. His captor stepped closer to him, grabbed by the chin and pressed his lips to the elf’s mouth. The elf froze, stupefied. This was so unimaginable, so bizarre that he couldn’t grasp what was happening. Only when the man’s tongue invaded his mouth, the elf shuddered in disgust and recoiled from him, breaking this insufferable physical contact.

He looked at the man wide-eyed and rubbed his lips with the back of his palm, desperately trying to erase any trace of this revolting, unnatural kiss.

Mortal laughed out loud, and the elf now could recognize the fire with which his predatory gaze burned.

It was lust.

“Did you like it, my little elf-slut? If you want more, just ask nicely.”

The elf attacked him with the strangled cry of fury. He was stopped by the heavy blow to his solar plexus. For a moment or two he forgot how to breathe. The next blow to his jaw knocked him off his feet. The mortal’s boot rammed into his ribs, and the elf nearly screamed in pain. He wriggled and managed to stand up. The man hit him in the face and easily threw him across the cell. The elf hit the opposite wall and collapsed on the floor like a rag doll, barely conscious.

The man took advantage of that. He threw the elf face down on the mattress and pinned him with his weight.

“Have you been fucked by a man before? Have you ever been fucked by anyone, sugar?” he said, pressing his whole body against him, driving him into the mattress.

He shamelessly rubbed his hips against him, and the elf felt what could not be mistaken for anything else - a huge erection pressed to his buttocks.

The elf tried to put up some resistance, but his body didn’t obey him. His captor’s grip was like a steel trap. The man parted his legs with his knee. Then he squeezed the elf’s throat with one hand, nearly choking him, and shoved his other hand between their intertwined bodies. Only then the elf finally realized what was bound to happen. The next moment he felt an excruciating pain as the man penetrated him through the orifice which was never meant for this by the Father of Arda. He forced his cock deep inside the elf’s body, claiming him as a prey to his lust, violating him, as if he was a woman.

The pain and humiliation were so unbearable, they clouded the elf’s mind and overwhelmed his every sense. He bit his wrist trying to stiffen his cries. Hot tears of shame and fury streamed down his cheeks. The torture seemed eternal.

“Scream!” the man growled, breathing heavily. His thrusts became more fierce, more fast and deep, more frantic. “Scream, you elfling!”

And then it all ended with one last jab of pain and a spurt of burning-hot liquid, while his torturer shuddered and came, crying out in triumph, filling him with his seed.

The man whispered into his ear,

“I’ll be back, pretty elf, before you have a chance to miss me!”

He released the elf from his foul embrace and left. The elf curled up into a ball on his mattress, hugging himself. His body was racked with silent sobs, his cheeks were burning with unbearable shame. He felt defiled, sullied, dirty beyond words. He still smelt the man’s sweat mixed with his own blood, felt the sticky sperm staining the inside of his thighs. No clever torture device could ever cause him as much pain as the realization that he had became a helpless toy of the base mortal lust, a victim to the filthiest and vilest assault, the possibility of which was never known to him before.

Consumed by loathing and hatred, the elf swore to himself to never yield, to fight his tormentor till the last breath.

 

***

 

Next time he did exactly as he decided. The sound of steps and the gleam of the torchlight gave him enough warning. He was prepared. He pretended to be asleep and waited for the man to come closer. Then he jumped him with the ferocity and speed of a recoiling steel spring, knocking him to the floor. However, his advantage turned to be only temporary. The man was not abashed by this sudden violence, and he was a good deal more heavier than the elf, and much more experienced fighter at that. Soon that was the elf who was writhing on the floor while the man kicked him with his boots, swearing loudly. Excited by the fight, the Sauron’s servant tried to have him then and there. But the elf gathered all his remaining strength and resisted desperately, despite of the man’s painful blows and kicks. The man tried to tie the elf’s hands with his belt, but to no avail, because the elf fought furiously and even managed to kick his assailant a few times inciting a gasp of pain. Mad with fury, the man finally struck the elf so violently that he simply passed out.

When he regained consciousness, he was alone - and there was no doubt that the man left without taking what he wanted. This time the elf was spared the foul rape, the lustful touch, the humiliation. He heartened up and hoped that the man preferred an easy prey, and would leave him alone after such a display of defiance.

He wasn’t familiar with the laws and customs of Mordor. Later the same day or the next - it was difficult to watch the time in the dungeons - the man was back. And he wasn’t alone.

He brought two servants with him. The master watched with a smile as his servants subdued the elf in a matter of minutes, twisted his hands behind his back and made him kneel on the floor. They held him by the shoulders while the man took him from behind, clutching his hips with his steel fingers, skewering him with his iron-hard cock. He was more rough and vigorous than before, the elf felt the pain and humiliation much more keenly. He bit his lip drawing blood, in order to stiffen any cries or moans. He tried to shut himself away from reality, to cease his awareness of what was happening to him, to force his spirit leave his body, even for a short time - and could not. The torture continued, the man pillaged and plundered his body, leaving - it seemed - his flesh torn to pieces and his insides scorched.

Then again the elf felt the spurt of burning-hot semen, when the man was done with satisfying his vile mortal desire.

The man grabbed the elf by his long hair and jerked his head up, to face him.

“Listen to me, my sweet little elf,” he said, almost with affection. “Dare to resist me once more, and I’ll let my servants have their way with you. Their way, believe me, is much less gentle than mine.”

The elf felt the dark horror rousing from the depths of his soul, brought by the man’s cruel villainous nature, his passion for inflicting pain. He felt his determination weakening and dull indifference taking over. Fighting is useless; it would only increase his suffering.

 

***

 

When the man came to his cell again, to satisfy his lust, the elf was lying on his mattress, still and silent. He trembled in fear of the new torture and hid his face in his arms. He didn’t resist, only shuddered, when the man forced his legs apart and wedged his cock between his buttocks in one powerful thrust. Now that the elf wasn’t trying to struggle, to avoid the rape, the pain was somehow less overwhelming. He was able to hear every gasp and sigh from the man, to feel every thrust into his body. The heavy weight spread him on the floor, clasps and buckles from the man’s clothes jabbed his bare back, the man’s breath, hot and heavy, burned his shoulders and neck... He shut his eyes and surrendered to his rapist who was slowly, deliberately pleasuring himself within the elf’s body. The elf’s mind begun to slip away into the darkness… until he was brought back by the sudden pain, when the man gripped his thighs and jerked him closer.

“Hey, blondie, don’t you dare play a corpse with me! Come on, move your ass!” the man growled.

He rammed his hips harder, thrust his cock deeper, violating every hidden place of the elf’s body which he hadn’t reached before.

A quiet moan escaped the elf’s lips. He stiffened instinctively, making weak efforts to break free from the cruel hands, from the flesh-tearing pain torturing his tight entrance. It seemed the man was waiting just for this moment. One more furious thrust, and he shuddered and orgasmed, filling the elf with his semen. It was the last thing the elf felt before his mind slipped into the longed-for darkness.

The next day, when the man entered his cell, the elf was lying as he had left him — face down, robbed of strength and spirit, hardly even conscious. Only the slight movement of his ribs showed that he was still breathing.

The man prodded him, and the elf never moved, never even flinched.

The man took him by the shoulder and turned him on his back.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered.

No reaction.

“Open your eyes and look at me!”

He shook the elf harshly and slapped him on the face, once, twice. Finally the elf opened his foggy blue eyes and looked at his tormentor.

“I was told you didn’t eat or drink for two days now.”

The man didn’t ask, he just stated a fact.

The elf’s appearance confirmed it was a fact. His face was pale. There were dark circles around his eyes. His lips were parched, his breathing weak and hollow.

“Do you plan to escape to Namo Mandos from me?”

The elf closed his eyes wearily. The man slapped him again.

“Look at me, you elfling! I asked you a question, answer it! What are your trying to accomplish by that?”

“Death.”

Since being in Mordor the elf spoke for the first time. His voice was hoarse, almost soundless, as if he forgot how to use it.

“Do you think I’ll let you die before I’m through with you? No way, my sweet little elf. I won’t let you stop our fun while it lasts.”

The man grabbed his thigh and caressed him roughly with his strong fingers. As he was a master rewarding his favorite slave.

“You can kill me, but you can’t force me to live,” the elf said through clenched teeth.

“That’s where you are mistaken, pretty elf. You hope to starve yourself to death? Be my guest. You elves can go on for a long time without food or drink. So I’ll be able to enjoy your company for a week or two, at the very least. Besides, I can order to force-feed you.”

“You can do nothing. I don’t want to live. In a few days my body will become weak, and my soul will leave it easily.”

“What if I give you a reason to stay alive, pretty elf?”

The elf smiled with disdain and shut his eyes again. He fully expected the man to rape or beat him. But he just stood up silently and left the cell, and the echo of his steps died off in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wake up, my sweet little elf. Someone wants to meet you.”

The sound of the hateful voice woke the elf from his semi-consciousness. He opened his eyes, wondering what new humiliation awaited him.

The man waved his hand, and the elf looked in that direction, despite himself.

Outside his cage two servants dragged someone into the circle of light. It was a skinny emaciated creature, dressed in dirty rags, his hair tangled. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was gagged. They pushed him down on his knees. One of the servants grabbed his hair and put a knife to his throat.

The elf looked closely at the face of the new victim. His heart stopped, and his breath was taken away. It was his kinsman.

The elf rushed to the bars that separated them. But the man stepped on the chain that secured him to the wall, and it clutched his ankle painfully. The elf fell on his knees.

“Oh, brother mine!” he whispered under his breath. He fixed his gaze upon the other elf’s face, both afraid and hopeful to see someone whom he knew in the past, someone who could remind him of quiet days in Mirkwood.

“He will die if I give the order,” the man said. “But you can save his life. If you want to, of course.”

The other elf flinched and turned his head a little, until their eyes met. This gaze pierced the elf’s heart like a knife. The other’s eyes were full of such pain and suffering that the elf hid his face in his hands, unable to bear it.

The man strolled past him and continued, evidently pleased with himself. “He’s been working in the mines for several years. He’s been through much worse than you, pretty, yet he lives and still has a hope. But his only hope today is you. He’ll live should say “yes”. He’ll die right now should you say “no”. My servant will cut his throat.”

The elf didn’t ask what was wanted of him. The man made it perfectly clear the last time they spoke.

He took his hands of his face, bowed his head and said quietly:

“I won’t starve myself or bring my death closer in any other way. Let him go, he has nothing to do with this.”

“That’s not enough, pretty thing. I need more,” the man made a meaningful pause and continued, “Promise to share my bed willingly, submit to me entirely and be eager to fulfill every wish of mine.”

“I’m an elf and no slave for anyone!” the elf said through clenched teeth.

The man seized him by the hair and lifted his head making him look at the bound elf. The servant holding the knife to his throat pressed it harder, and blood started to drip from under the blade.

He knew that if the other elf could speak, he would be yelling: “Don’t agree! They’ll kill me anyway, sooner or later! Don’t give up, don’t yield to him!” But his fearful, pleading eyes betrayed him. He wanted to live.

The elf kept silent. He felt that he’d burst out crying if he said a word.

The man said mockingly,

“I know it’s hard to decide. It’s not easy to part with your elvish pride or whatever you call it. Let me sweeten our deal a little bit. Just because I like you and because I’m in good mood today. Not only I will spare this pathetic creature with pointy ears, I’ll let him go free if you obey me. And if I like the way you please me in bed, I’ll let ten more elvish captives go in a month.”

“I don’t believe you,” the elf murmured.

“You have a right not to, but no real choice. You’ll have to believe me. Do you want to test how serious my intentions are? This captive elf will get his throat cut in a moment, I’ll order my servants to bring another one, and we’ll continue our fascinating conversation.”

 

***

 

The man nodded, and his servant jerked the victim’s head back, baring his throat. He raised the knife, ready to strike.

“No!” the elf screamed and rushed to the bars, arms outstretched. He was stopped by the man’s tightened grip on his hair but barely felt the pain.

“Should I take that as your consent?” his tormentor asked sarcastically.

“I’ll do everything you want,” the elf’s own voice sounded strange to him. “Let him go.”

“Not so fast, pretty elfling. Remember what I told you? Follow all my orders without hesitation, be obedient and docile. If you dare to argue with me or disobey me, if you try to escape or kill yourself, ten kinsmen of yours will die. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s see if you are willing to fulfil your part of the bargain. For starters, what is your name?”

“Gilmorn,” the elf replied reluctantly.

“Where are you from?”

“Mirkwood.”

“Are you of Sindar or Nandor?”

“I’m Sinda.”

“What else can you do except getting in trouble?”

“I write poems and play harp. Also I’m good at archery and hand-to-hand combat with two daggers.”

“Have you ever been with a man before?”

Gilmorn lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“What about women?”

Same gesture.

“A virgin. Very interesting. No sexual experience at all?”

“No,” the elf whispered almost inaudibly and suddenly blushed to the tips of his ears.

“Who would have thought,” the man said mockingly. “You can still blush after everything you have gone through! Indeed you elves are delicate creatures.”

He grabbed Gilmorn’s chin and caressed his lips with his thumb.

The elf winced, but mastered his temper and made no attempt to move away.

“Young, unexperienced, silly and beautiful like… well, beautiful like an elf, of course. What an arousing combination,” the man stated.

He made Gilmorn throw his head back, bent down to him, and covered his lips with his mouth, so skilled in arrogant mockery. It was a rough kiss, so forceful, as if the mortal was trying to drink him, steal his breath and his soul. He raped his mouth with his greedy tongue and didn’t let go until the elf made a choked-up moaning sound, fighting for breath.

The man straightened and chuckled,

“A typical virgin. You don't give even a simple kiss without a fight. Could it be that you like being forced?”

Not waiting for Gilmorn's reply, he ordered:

“Give me your hand!”

The elf obeyed after a moment's hesitation. The man pressed his palm to his groin and made him squeeze his fingers. Gilmorn froze, as he felt the hard throbbing flesh under his palm, under the fabric of the man’s close-fitting pants. The man was indeed aroused, all he needed was a touch of soft and beautifully shaped elven lips. Somehow a small part of Gilmorn’s mind was astonished by the force of mortal lust and their burning passion.

Gilmorn blushed to the roots of his hair when the man unfastened his pants and made him stroke and caress his hard cock, setting the speed by his own hand upon the elf’s one. Gilmorn couldn’t forget the two men and the elf standing near his cell, right behind the bars. They could see every movement, hear every sound - including sighs of pleasure that escaped the man’s lips while the elf was squeezing his cock in his graceful hand. Gilmorn could saw himself through their eyes. He looked like a whore. A little elf-slut, in his torturer's wording. Spreading him on the floor and simply taking him  wasn’t enough for this mortal. He wanted to humiliate Gilmorn, to take his pleasure from him in every possible way.

The elf briefly wondered what else the man had in mind for him when the man said:

“Let’s see what you can do with you pretty mouth.”

He moved closer, positioning his cock positioned right in front of the elf’s face. Near his lips.

Gilmorn jerked back involuntarily, but the man held him by his shoulder.

“What? I… no… I can’t…”

“It’s not difficult at all,” the man smirked. “Do the same thing, but with you lips. Well?”

“At least make them leave,” the elf looked up at his torturer pleadingly.

“You will do exactly as I say and exactly when I say, even in front of the entire Sauron’s army. So now you will work your lips and your tongue on me until I come. Open your mouth, blondie, that’s an order. If you don’t do it on your own, my servants will help you, right after they kill that elvish scum.

The last argument tipped the balance. Gilmorn’s hot lips obediently wrapped around his hard flesh. The man growled and gripped the elf’s hair. He thrusted his hips forward to wedge his cock deeper into that moist pliant mouth. The elf did as he was ordered, starting to work his lips and his tongue up and down. Several minutes later his torturer began to breath deep and fast, and his fingers dug into Gilmorn’s shoulders as he dragged him closer. Suddenly he jerked sharply, moaned and came. Gilmorn felt a viscid spurt of semen on his tongue. Despite his expectations, the taste wasn’t bad… it was almost sweet.

The man leaned on his shoulders heavily and slipped down on the floor as if his legs gave out. Maybe they really did.

“You’re damn good, my sweet little elf. No doubt, you’re naturally gifted,” he said in a hoarse voice.

He put his hands on Gilmorn’s ass and pulled him closer. His lips attacked the elf’s mouth as he licked traces of his own come from his lips. The elf humbly allowed him to paw his body, to invade his mouth with his tongue. He was so exhausted and worn out that he didn’t feel neither shame, nor humiliation, nor even disgust. He was simply relieved that it was over, that the man’s touch was no longer hurting him.

Gilmorn thought that now, after getting what he wanted, his torturer will just laugh at him and leave him in his cell. But he wasn’t ready to what happened next.

 

***

 

Servants took the chain off his leg, tied his hands behind his back, led him out of his cell, and dragged him along a few corridors and up the stairs, for quite some time. At last Gilmorn found himself standing on a fortified wall between two high merlons. The man was already there, the wind played with his long black hair. He was smiling.

“Watch me fulfill my part of the bargain,” he said and pointed down.

Gilmorn’s eyes were sharp like any other elf’s, and he saw several orcs far below who carried something. No, not something, someone - the elf who was the subject of their bargain. The orcs moved away from the wall, cut the elf’s ropes and threw him on the ground. Then they went back and disappeared in a passageway that could not be seen from above.

The lying elf didn’t move. “He’s dead. They murdered him,” Gilmorn thought with desperation. But then the elf stirred, got up with difficulty, raised his head and looked at the giant wall of Morannon towering above him.

 

Gilmorn stopped breathing. At any moment, an arrow or a spear would dart out of one of numerous loopholes, and his sacrifice would become vain.

But nothing happened. The elf turned around and hobbled away.

“Hey you, elf scum!” the man yelled putting his hands to his mouth. “Take flight out of here and bless mercy of North Moradan, the warlord of Sauron Gorthaur!”

He laughed loud and Gilmorn thought how much he hated him. But he barely had strength even for hatred. He just felt something akin to amazement that the man kept his word.

What if that was a dirty trick? Maybe an ambush awaited the freed elf in the distance. He disappeared behind a hill, and Gilmorn was sure that he won’t show up again. But the elf’s tiny figure came in sight on top of another hill, before he disappeared from Gilmorn’s sight for good.

“Don’t worry,” the man said condescendingly. Apparently he could guess what Gilmorn was concerned about. “You think that I’ll soil my hands with one lousy elf? The freeing of one or even of ten elves would not undermine the military power of Mordor in the slightest. I has taken so many elves prisoner that I can afford to release a few every now and then. Let them wander about spreading stories about horrors in Mordor.”

He laughed again.

“Is that you name - North Moradan?” the elf asked suddenly.

“Why do you care?” the man glanced at him with surprise.

“You took away from me so much. You crushed my life, my pride… I could learn your name at least,” the elf uttered bitterly, shaking from cold wind.

“You elves love big words and tragic poses! Take it easy, consider it as a new life experience,” North replied with an open sneer. “Think about it as of something you’d never taste in your forest,” he added, caressing the elf’s cheek with his fingers.

The caustic remark somehow just escaped Gilmorn’s lips,

“I have never felt any need for this kind of experience.”

He tried to ignore the man who took a strand of his long silky hair and began playing with it, stroke it, and let it through his fingers.

“You might change your mind in a month, who knows.”

“I don’t think so!”

North chuckled. He was definitely in a good mood.

“You know very little about life, my sweet elf. Only a few days ago you despised and hated me so much that you deigned no answer to me. Yet now we’re talking like old friends, and you’re not trying to throw yourself down the wall and smash your head upon the stones.

Gilmorn quickly glanced between the wall merlons. So high… that was a sure death. He had to make just one little step, bend forward, and he would fall all the way to the ground. His captivity, his humiliation and suffering would be over. He would never see again those arrogant, greedy eyes full of mockery and jeer. But he didn’t want to die in such a way.

“You won’t be able to stop me if I decide to do just that.”

“Do you think so?” North raised an eyebrow. “Wanna find out? My reflexes aren’t as fast as elvish ones, but I’ll be able to catch you in time. However, if I’m not fast enough, don’t think that the Halls of Mandos will bring you any relief. I’ll send ten kinsmen of yours there, right after you, or maybe even more if I’m pissed off enough. Also I’ll make sure to enlighten them to whom they owe the displeasure of their cruel untimely death, before I kill them.

Gilmorn felt sick. There was no doubt that North would carry out his threat.

“Besides, I’m fully aware that elves are not suicidally inclined. I assume you wouldn’t even manage to starve yourself to death.”

“Then why are you doing this?” the elf asked in a small voice. “Why buy my obedience with the lives of elvish captives? You could just keep me in the cage doing anything you wish.”

North shrugged.

“I want you to enjoy it too.”

“There is nothing possibly enjoyable about it,” Gilmorn retorted.

“Then you can enjoy the idea that you’re saving your kinsmen’s lives by yielding yourself to me.” North grinned. “Begin to think about it right now.”


	3. Chapter 3

The chambers of North Moradan at the tower’s top floor could be considered luxurious even in a castle, let alone in a military fortress. The ceiling was high, the fireplace huge, the furniture simple yet skillfully made. The walls and the floor were covered by carpets and furs. There were fine silverware and cut-glass goblets on the table. Gilmorn wasn’t surprised to see a big bookcase filled with books up to the top. Despite North’s preference for rude words, his manner of speech made clear that he wasn’t alien to education and definitely dabbled in reading more often than once. Gilmorn never thought The Enemy would keep dull uneducated commanders in his service, and North was a living proof of that.

Before Gilmorn was taken to his new master’s chambers, he was given a chance to wash himself in a big barrel full of hot water. It felt so wonderful that Gilmorn didn’t leave it until the water turned cold. He brushed his wet hair afterwards, but didn’t braid it, just kept it loose upon his shoulders. Servants prepared clean clothes for him: shoes, black pants and a sleeveless tunic, all of simple cut, but made of expensive silk. A table was laid for him in the chambers. After being told that that was his master’s order, Gilmorn ate a little, without any appetite, just to keep up his strength. He stood at the window and looked at the distant mountains waiting for North to come back.

The door opened. The elf turned around in time to see something akin to a naked admiration in the man’s face. North stood dead in his tracks, unable to take his eyes of the elf. Gilmorn gave him a defiant look, trying to get over strange embarrassment caused by his gaze.

“Would you like some wine?” North asked, crossed the room and stopped at the table.

He poured wine into two goblets and offered one of them to the elf.

“Wine? A good idea,” Gilmorn thought. “To get drunk and stop thinking, feeling… To see nothing…”

He came closer and took the goblet from the man’s hand. Their fingers touched for a moment and the elf flinched.

“Nervous, aren’t we?” North smirked.

Gilmorn thought that lying would be pointless.

“Yes.” He licked his dry lips and drained the goblet in one gulp.

“Don’t be.” The man filled his goblet again and took a sip from his own as he stared at Gilmorn with his piercing green eyes. “I’m experienced enough to make the sex pleasant for both of us. I’ll have you know, rape is not my style, as a matter of fact. I won’t hurt you if you don’t anger me.”

“You have hurt me already too much,” Gilmorn thought sadly.

Second goblet followed the first one, and the elf become slightly dizzy. The wine affected him quickly because he ate very little and still was quite weak. But nervous shivering still racked his body, only getting stronger. The way North was looking at him was mainly at fault. His gaze seemed to heat the air. The man was just devouring him with his burning eyes. Suddenly Gilmorn felt naked again.

“In a moment I will be indeed naked... laid down on the bed or on the floor with my legs spread, obediently taking him inside of me, this beast with the eyes of a wolf...” This thought stirred a hollow, nagging feeling in his abdomen, and his ass clenched convulsively. His body still remembered the way the man was taking him, rough and hard, the pain as he entered him, the rhythmic thrusts back and forth. Gilmorn swayed, caught himself on the edge of the table, closed his eyes. The memory stroke him like a bolt of lightning, pierced his spine like a scorching needle. A hot wave ran through his whole body, from head to toes.

North’s derisive voice got him back to his senses.

“I didn’t even touch you yet, my sweet little elf.”

He put his goblet on the table, took the elf’s hand and led him into the bedroom. Then he ordered, “Undress.”

Gilmorn’s lips begun to tremble.

“Please…” he looked at North, scared.

“‘Please’ what?”

“Don’t… Don’t do this to me… Please…” He pleaded, disgusted with himself for this pathetic whining. “I will serve you any way you want, but don’t make me… do this…”

North laughed, sincerely, openly, as if Gilmorn said something funny.

“This is the only thing I need from you, prettiness. Nothing else, only this.”

“Please… At least don’t do it today! I beg of you, give me some time!”

“I can’t wait. The only thing I want at this moment is you. Naked on my bed. Now.”

North’s commanding tone discouraged Gilmorn from arguing any further. Slowly and hesitantly he took off his tunic and pants and lowered his gaze, standing next to the bed entirely naked.

North took off his shirt and came closer.

“May I ask a question?” the elf asked, still looking down.

He desperately wanted to delay the moment when he would find himself in bed with North.

“Go on.” The man traced the elf’s chin with his finger.

“Why me?” Gilmorn asked almost under his breath.

The finger kept traversing his skin, up to his earlobe, then down his neck to his collarbone.

“You really have no idea, do you? Very well, I’ll tell you. The first reason is obvious. Do you have a slightest notion of how beautiful you are?” North’s finger moved down from the spot between his collarbones, travelled between the nicely etched muscles of his chest to his flat stomach and hairless groin. “Of course all the elves are beautiful in the eyes of a man, but you are unique even amongst them. It is said that the Sindar excel all other Elven tribes in beauty, and looking at you I do believe that. When I first laid eyes on you, you came straight from the battlefield, covered in blood, bruised and scratched. But damn, wasn’t you still attractive despite all that. I was consumed by desire for you at once, and since then my desire has only grown. We, Men, try to conquer beauty, to subjugate it, to own it. To possess you is a true pleasure, Gilmorn.”

The elf flinched upon hearing his name from the man for the first time ever.

North took him in his arms and pressed him to his muscular chest with impressive pectorals dusted with black hair. He drew a strand of the elf’s hair aside, and his lips touched his ear. The touch was like a burn. Gilmorn had to master all his self-control not to recoil from it.

North’s rubbed his hips against him, and he felt that the man’s desire indeed had grown, he was ready to perform a sexual intercourse again. Gilmorn sighed. “Could he ever put aside sex, overcome his lust? Or is he ready to do it all day and night long?”

“The second reason is also about you, my pretty.” North’s whisper along with his hot breath sent shivers through Gilmorn’s body.

“You’re a victim by nature, my sweet little elf. I saw it at once as if the word was written on your forehead in elvish runes. Your spirit is weak, deep down you are vulnerable and eager to submit. Willing to submit. Your beautiful blue eyes say: “Oh, please, don’t hurt me, I’m so pure and innocent!” That’s the best way to arouse desire to dominate you, to conquer, to take you by force. You provoke men because violence and roughness excite you!”

Gilmorn uttered a cry of protest, and it was muffled at once by North’s hot greedy mouth pressed to his lips. The touch was not rough, but forceful, and passionate. North’s lips opened the elf’s mouth, and his tongue slipped in, stealing his breath.

Then the man changed his approach and began to kiss Gilmorn’s half-opened lips, one at a time. The tip of his tongue caressed the velvety insides of the elf’s mouth, and it became hard for the elf to ignore these sensations. Somehow those gently tickling touches stirred a response through different parts of his body - his stomach, his spine, his knees that suddenly gave way. North drew him closer with his one arm around his waist and the other around his neck. However, his hand didn’t stay on his waist for long. Almost immediately North dropped it lower and squeezed the elf’s firm round ass.

“Are you still as cold as you pretend to be?” North purred in his ear as his lips touched it.

“Don’t waste your time,” Gilmorn whispered. “I’ll obey your orders because I gave you my word. But you won’t make me find pleasure in it.”

“I’m giving you a chance, pretty elf. Follow the desire of your body, submit to me eagerly, of your own free will, and you won’t be a prisoner here, but a dear guest. Our nights will be full of such pure delight for both of us that was known to no one in the whole of Arda.”

Gilmorn flinched as if he had been hit. The mere thought that North believed him to reciprocate his vile passion was not only repulsive, it was an offense to his pride. He wanted North to get angry, to beat him again, to take him by force as he did earlier. He was ready to do anything to prove him wrong, to stop his caresses… those hateful, deceivingly tender caresses that made him weak in the knees.

“The only desire of my body is for you to never defile it with your touch, your dirty breath and your filthy lust! I would very much prefer toiling in the mines to the questionable pleasure of warming your bed!” Gilmorn’s voice shook as he hurled that accusation right into North's face. He trembled at the thought of inevitable punishment, but still couldn’t restrain himself.

“Should I take that as a no?” the man said, unruffled. “So you choose to play a master and a slave, don’t you?”

“Yes! You’re a butcher, a rapist, do whatever you want with me, but you’ll never make me love my chains and obey you willingly, of my own accord!”

“So be it, elf. You’ll get what you want,” North said, still unruffled.

He pushed Gilmorn away, raised his hand and gave him a heavy slap on the cheek, which made it burn with pain.

“I’ll treat you as a defiant slave,” he slapped him again, this time on the other cheek, with his left hand. “If you need a confirmation of my power over you every time, you will get that.” North gave him another slap on the face, so heavy that Gilmorn swayed and moaned quietly.

Next blow made the elf fall down on his knees. He clasped his hands to his chest, bowed his head and closed his eyes tightly trembling all over.

North gave him another heavy slap, then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him flat on his back onto the bed. A moment later he lay atop of him already naked, covering him with his big and strong body, hot as a stove.

“Call me “Master” and say that you will submit to me and obey me,” North said. His voice was like a steel blade sheathed in velvet: behind the deceptive amiability there was power of command and an iron belief in getting the absolute obedience from others.

“I will obey you, Master,” Gilmorn breathed out.

North’s mouth was immediately pressed to his lips, his tongue invaded the elf’s mouth conquering, ravaging, muffling his weak moans. There was no doubt what exactly turned the man on so much. It was the elf’s submissive expression, his docile words, his readiness to bend before the brute force.

Now the entire Gilmorn’s body was burning as if he was infected with the flames raging inside the man’s soul. The rhythm of his movements, of his tongue thrusting in the elf’s mouth, of his hard flesh pressing to his groin, his palms stroking his shoulders, made the elf’s head spin. The embrace seemed to go on forever. The time stood still.

When the kiss finally ended, it left Gilmorn panting, and his lips swollen. Blood rushed to his face as he realized that he had unconsciously spread his legs and bent his knees, as if to press his hips harder to the man’s.

North raised up a little to reach for the table next to his bed, took a vial of aromatic oil and lubed his fingers.

“Relax and don’t fight me, Gilmorn. Don’t turn this into a rape,” the man said right before his lubed finger slid inside the elf’s orifice and began to move in and out.

The elf froze at first, and then he tried to break free, to push North away with his knees.

“Stay still if you don’t want me to tie you up and whip you as a preparation!” the man’s voice was sharp as a cracking of a lash.

He leaned all his weight on Gilmorn and continued his ministrations. A second finger joined the first. North scissored and twisted them slightly as he stretched the elf’s tender flesh. His gaze was fixed on Gilmorn’s face, he wanted to miss no change of expression, however subtle. The elf stared back, tense and scared. His blue eyes grow darker, his lips trembled and twitched, and his breathing was quick and shallow.

A painful grimace distorted his face as North’s lubed cock penetrated the tight ring of muscle between the elf’s buttocks and began inexorably pushing inside. Gilmorn put his fingers in his mouth and bit them, but that didn’t prevent loud sighs to escape through his clenched teeth. Upon wedging all his length inside of the elf North stopped, mercifully letting him get used to the pain, to cope with it. He changed his position slightly, carefully watching Gilmorn’s reaction, and caressed soothingly his legs, hips, buttock, everywhere he could reach.

“Can he really be so gentle?” The thought suddenly aroused a weird feeling in Gilmorn as if a steel spring coiled up inside of him, and the hot flesh piercing his trembling body was its center.

North started to move, very slowly at first, and the elf felt a dull nagging pain… still felt it... and suddenly not anymore. And then... Then his eyes opened wide in amazement, because the pain had dissolved in a growing wave of arousal which the elf didn’t learn to recognize yet. North’s movements became harder, faster, and the elf moaned loudly despite himself and arched his back. Now the man was really fucking him, hard, slapping his thighs against his ass roughly, penetrating him deeper with each move. He touched spots inside of him that sent waves of shivers through the elf’s body and made him desperately, achingly wish that it would go on further, that North would not stop… if only he wouldn’t stop...

The man’s hand caressed his groin gently, and the elf’s flesh hardened as if longing for the touch of this big smooth palm with long and strong fingers with nails neatly cut. It was so impossible, so incredible, that Gilmorn cried in sorrow feeling the last remnants of his pride burn with the fire of base lust as the strong fingers squeezed his dick and began to stroke it. And then there was nothing else except those sweet shivers, boiling of blood, the furious beating of both their hearts in unison, and the feeling of flesh touching, rubbing together…

Gilmorn felt as if he was vanishing, floating away, that everything around him crashed and disappeared. The spring inside of him finally coiled to an end and immediately unfolded, shaking his entire body from head to toe. A dazzling light burst into his eyes, and his groin exploded. Gilmorn spilled his semen along with a desperate loud cry from his lips. His eyes rolled back, and he fell into darkness. His last thought was, “Oh Eru Iluvatar, can death really be so sweet?..”

When the elf came to his senses, he found himself lying in North’s arms, his head on his shoulder. The man was absentmindedly petting his hair. Gilmorn had no strength to move.

“North, what was that?” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracked. He didn’t even notice that he called the man by name. “I thought I was dying…”

Before answering the man turned his face to him and kissed hard his swollen, bitten lips.

“No one has ever died from this,” he smirked. “It’s just an orgasm, Gil. Your first orgasm.”

‘Gil’... Nobody ever called him that. The Eldar don’t use pet names. It sounded so tender, so very intimate...

“With him I felt what should be experienced only in a marriage bed… Does that mean I’m in love with him? Eru, no, it can’t be, I can’t think about it… Love can’t be so… so lustful, so greedy for unnatural touches, so lewd… How could I feel this way with an enemy, a murderer, a torturer of elves? I’m cursed… I have fallen… the darkness seized me…”

North kissed him again, harder, demanding more.

“I don’t think you had tasted it to the fullest, Gil. I believe we should do it again, but slower.”

“Oh, no!” the elf moaned and tried to move away from North. “Not right now!”

“You elves should have the same stamina in bed as you have on a battlefield,” North purred is a low voice full of passion. He pulled Gilmorn closer. “Come here, my sweet little elf.”

 

***

 

North didn’t let Gilmorn out of the bed for three days in a row. He ignored his begging and his pleading looks as he took him again and again or just brought him to the peak of pleasure with his hands. The elf, fucked into utter exhaustion, could offer no resistance. The only way to damp North's enthusiasm was pretending to be asleep, unconscious even. Gilmorn lay so still, even his eyelashes didn’t quiver. Only then the man let him be, muttering in disappointment. But the elf rarely managed to accomplish that because only a corpse would stay cold and still under the North’s hot kisses. With desperation the elf felt his body obediently awakening to the mortal’s caresses every time. He hated himself for that, but couldn’t help it.

“You’re so hot… So damn hot!” North whispered with admiration into his pointy ear, playfully biting his earlobe. “I never thought an elf can be so hot…”

And Gilmorn thought, “Neither did I! If only I knew the layer of culture and civilization to be so thin, hiding such dirty, base, disgusting things beneath it…”

“Do you like it? Tell me you like it!”

Oh the moments North chose to ask this question! Gilmorn could utter no articulate and audible words in such moments, neither he was able to lie, but his pride didn’t let him to answer “yes”. So he stayed silent and gritted his teeth to prevent moans of pleasure escaping his lips.

Only North’s deliberate roughness and his brute force drove the elf crazy, made him lose all his self-control. North was no longer careful and unhurried with him as he was in the beginning. He took him rough and hard, as if raping him. It wasn’t nearly as painful as during his first time. Gilmorn’s body probably got used to the invasion. But the sensations it aroused were more intense than pain, they blinded and deafened the elf to such extent that he didn’t hear his own desperate cries while North was spending himself into his body with his wild powerful orgasm.

After three days of non-stop exercise in bed Gilmorn felt exhausted. Everything in his body hurt: his lips, swollen from kissing; his sore worn-out ass; his shoulders and hips covered with bite marks and scratches, and even muscles he didn’t know he had. North was very inventive when it came to caresses and new positions…

The marathon was over when Gilmorn simply blacked out after North took him again. The elf fell into heavy sleep despite the fact that elves generally needed almost no sleep at all. The man couldn’t wake him for several hours. That made him come to his senses and let both of them have rest.

When the elf had woken up, an unpleasant surprise awaited him. North decided to brand him as his property, and went about it in a completely barbaric way. He had the Gilmorn’s right earlobe pierced and put an earring in it - a little niello ring decorated with green enamel.

As if that vulgar jewellery was not enough, the elf had to go through a worse humiliation. He was tied to a bench so tightly he couldn’t move, and there was a tattoo made on his tailbone, above the crack of his ass. A tattoo-master, otherwise known as a fortress physician, tortured Gilmorn for three hours straight as he carefully and diligently depicted the image.

That kind of pain was easy to bear, nothing special, mere needle pricks. But the elf almost burst into tears looking at the result in the mirror. It was a black and silver dragon with green eyes. The allegory was easy to read, considering the color of North’s eyes and his taste in clothes. That was probably his personal seal, his coat of arms or something like that. The dragon was portrayed with his wings wide open, his twisted tail disappeared right into the hollow between the elf’s snow white buttocks. The image was done skillfully, artfully even, but how obscene it looked on this exact spot, o Eru! It was like an invitation to sex, a brand of a bed-slave, a sign of base lustful love...

 

***

 

Monotonous days and nights of captivity had been dragging on. Gilmorn didn’t get to know anything about his master because North never talked about himself, and the elf didn’t allow himself to be curious. Instead he learned a lot about himself. For example, what positions brought him more pleasure, what kind of caresses he liked the most, what words turned him on, and how to please himself with his own hands. These were definitely not the things he’d experience in Mirkwood.

He found out that even an elf can get used to being naked and learn not to feel embarrassed by somebody else’s nudity. What was the point of getting dressed if it was warm in the North’s chambers, and their owner tolerated no obstacles in accessing his beautiful captive’s body. He learned that he could miss that severe man, his rapist or his lover, he wasn’t sure anymore. He was bound to miss him, there was nothing to busy himself with during the long lonely hours, except reading Westron books which Gilmorn didn’t like.

He learned many new words that Sindarin hadn’t the remotest idea of - cuss words, crude words, names for genitals and ways for having sex. He found out that he could be angry, rude and unrestrained in his speech while he insolently fought and resisted North in his bedroom. As if some strange capricious demon settled deep inside him and made him tease and provoke the man, made him try to pierce the armor of his usual self-restraint.

However, those rebellious moments could not change the real state of things. Which North made clear to him in one of a long train of days that they spent together.

“You will always call me “Master” if someone else is present, and you will be silent unless you’re spoken to. If you break this rule, I’ll whip you and then fuck you with the handle of the whip.”

Gilmorn flinched. His imagination never failed him.

“Understood. But why don’t you demand it when we’re alone?”

“I don’t need cheap symbols of my position. I know that you are completely in my power no matter how much you shoot your mouth off.”

“So you let your slaves disrespect you in private?”

“You can play at disobedience all you want,” North smirked. “But when you moan and writhe beneath me, neither of us has any doubts who is the master here.”

The elf blushed and couldn’t think of any reply to that.


	4. Chapter 4

Gilmorn lay on the bed, trying to concentrate on a book in his hands. But that seemed impossible: letters absolutely refused to form into words, because his mind was busy with something else. Involuntarily he listened to North’s steps in the next room. In a few minutes his master would be done with whatever occupied him and would come to the bedroom. Where he would like to “have a tumble with his little elf” before going to sleep, as he used to say. That thought immediately made Gilmorn feel hot all over.

The waiting became simply unbearable. Gilmorn tried to convince himself that he just wanted to be through with the nightly ritual of satisfying the insatiable human lust as soon as possible and to be safe from his attention for the next several hours. His pride prevented his admitting even to himself the real reason behind his impatience. It was the basest and most vulgar desire.

Suddenly he heard voices in the next room. There was a guest whom North greeted loudly and heartily. Gilmorn had no interest in the conversation; he just tried to concentrate on his book again, until some time later the man called:

“Hey, Gil, come here!”

The elf put away the book, threw on a tunic and came to the other room. He stopped at the door, lowering his gaze as his status required.

“My dear Artagir, I’d like you to meet my guest,” North said in a ceremonious yet slightly mocking manner. “This is Gilmorn, a Mirkwood elf, a subject of king Thranduil. He has kindly agreed to keep me company and brighten up my lonely days. Gilmorn, meet Artagir, my old friend and comrade-in-arms, a herald of the Dark Lord of Mordor.”

Gilmorn had to raise his head and look at the man North was introducing him to.

He saw a lean young man, almost a youth, around the same height as himself who was elegantly dressed in black and gray like a man of taste. His face was framed with short ash-blond hair, only shoulder length. He could be called handsome if it were not for too soft line of his chin and too delicate mouth that gave him an imperceptibly feminine look. A white line of an old scar crossed his cheek.

Gilmorn was shocked when his keen elvish insight made him realise North and Artagir were more than just friends. It took him only a few moments to read their body language and unsaid words in their glances at each other. What he saw was the evidence of an affair. Those two were lovers. As if to confirm Gilmorn’s guess, North laid his palm on his young guest’s knee, and the young guest obviously didn’t find it repulsive.

No wonder, the elf told himself. North would hardly manage without a bed partner before he met Gilmorn, not with such a temperament as his! Gimorn was amazed not by the fact that North had a lover, but that Artagir obviously got into a sexual relations with him on his own free will and with pleasure. Maybe officers of Mordor never frowned upon this kind of relationships between men, and two male lovers with the same passion for carnality could find equal pleasure in it.

Gilmorn even risked a thought that he would find North’s company more enjoyable, were he not an elf.

It looked like North preferred a certain type of male partners. Artagir was slender and gracious, his waist was slim and his height and figure resembled elvish. He also was fair-haired and his eyes light-colored, though they were silvery-gray unlike Gilmorn’s blue ones.

“Moradan, he’s absolutely gorgeous!” Artagir said in a pleasant melodic voice. He put aside his goblet of wine and rose from his armchair.

“Take off your clothes, Gil,” North ordered.

The elf blushed but immediately obeyed.

“Does he always blush like that or it’s me who caused such embarrassment?” Artagir wondered as he turned to North.

“The Fair Folk is surprisingly shy, Art,” he said, sprawled in his armchair lazily. “They never call things by their proper names, and they’d rather die than admit taking pleasure from sex.”

“Then how is he able to give himself over to you at night, Moradan?” Artagir taunted. He studied Gilmorn’s face with curiosity, his gaze mocking and intent.

“He pretends that he surrenders upon compulsion. To be more exact, he tries to pretend because he can’t do it very well,” North replied, imperturbed.

By now even Gilmorn’s ears turned red. He hung his head low, not knowing which way to look from embarrassment.

“Silly elf,” Artagir purred.

He went behind the elf’s back, pressed his whole body to him and stroke his shoulders. Gilmorn tensed, but didn’t move.

“Moradan, can you do me a favor?”

“I know what you want, Art, and I won’t say no to you.”

“Let me have your charming guest tonight. I’m in a little bit of a hurry because I have to leave again tomorrow evening.”

North’s voice was low and hoarse and full of lust when he said:

“Of course you can have him tonight, Artagir. Right here on my bed while I’m watching.”

“I agree. That’s incredibly tempting.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on North, Artagir began to kiss the elf’s shoulder slowly, sensually. His fingers touched Gilmorn’s nipples and caressed them lightly in circles.

The elf flinched and whimpered, looking at North pleadingly:

“Master…”

Artagir cut him short,

“Shh, did your master let you talk?”

His lips moved to his neck, the touches were light and gentle like butterfly wings. The elf clenched his teeth feeling his heart starting to beat faster and a hot wave spreading through his body. The young man’s hand moved down to Gilmorn’s groin and began stroking his cock persistently.

Gilmorn bit his lip and closed his eyes, his breathing became shallow. His body responded to the touch against his will. His cock strained as blood rushed to it under Artagir’s skillful hand. The young man’s arousal grew together with Gilmorn’s, his flesh pressed to the elf’s buttocks got harder.

“He never returns the favor, does he?” Artagir asked North in same low voice, hoarse with desire.

“Never.”

“And he never screams, never moans with pleasure, does he?”

“Rarely. Only when I’m rough with him.”

“I don’t like being rough,” Artagir purred, going on with his intimate caresses. “But if it’s the only way to awaken his cold beautiful body…”

He suddenly clenched his fingers, and Gilmorn cried out with sudden pain. A new hot wave went through his body.

“What do you want, elf? Tell me.”

“Take your pleasure and be done with it!” Gilmorn hissed.

“While you are lying still and pretending to be a victim of rape? How about showing a little spark of passion?”

“I will do whatever my master orders, but nothing more.”

“Don’t you feel desire?”

“I’m an elf, lust is alien to our race.”

“This tells me otherwise,” Artagir said, gripping Gilmorn’s hard cock with his hand.

“This happens against my will,” Gilmorn replied through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you Firstborns completely control your bodily functions?”

The elf didn’t reply.

“Art, don’t waste your time. All this sweet blondie wants is to be bent over the table and properly fucked in the ass. So that he could continue to lie to himself that he endures filthy violence, that he’s still innocent and knows nothing about carnal desires. See how he begins to shudder. Even rude words turn him on, I have noticed that long ago. You’re a slut deep inside, aren’t you, elf?” North said.

He went to Gilmorn, grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him into the bedroom. There he pushed the elf onto the bed.

“Take him, Art. Make him scream.”

Artagir took off his clothes and bent over the elf. Gilmorn lay on his back, rigid, with his eyes closed. The young man kissed his lips, gently at first, then more passionately, forcibly opening them with his tongue, tracing their tender inner sides. Gilmorn opened his mouth obediently, and the man’s tongue entered it and began exploring and caressing. But the elf’s lips and his whole body stayed still.

Artagir moved back from him, raised his head and looked at North with annoyance.

“Moradan, he’s too cold for my taste!”

“So warm him up,” North suggested with a smirk.

He already got rid of his clothes and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the two naked bodies on the sheets greedily.

Without wasting any more time Artagir moved down to take Gilmorn’s cock in his mouth.

A new feeling, completely unknown to the elf, burned him. It was so sharp that it seemed akin to pain. A spasm went through his body, and he screamed, trying to push Artagir away, “No, please, no!”

“Hold him down, Moradan.”

North squeezed Gilmorn’s wrists as Artagir straddled his legs preventing him from kicking, and his hot tongue twisted around the elf’s hard flesh again. His lips began gliding up and down all over the length while his hand held its base. A few moments later Gilmorn gave out a quiet moan and started moving his hips forward, thrusting his cock deeper into Artagir’s mouth without even knowing what was he doing. The elf’s moans grew louder when Artagir sucked him harder and started helping with his hand.

Gilmorn’s eyes were wide open but unseeing, staring into nowhere. He rolled his head from side to side and bit his lip, but still couldn’t stop moaning. Finally he screamed, jerked one last time and fell back on the pillow. Artagir quickly took his mouth off his cock, covered the head with his palm and collected his spilled semen. He put the elf’s legs on his shoulders, lubed his cock with that sticky silver liquid and set the tip of it against Gilmorn’s orifice. He pressed forward, made the tight muscle ring gave in and slowly, smoothly penetrated the elf.

Gilmorn moaned and bit his lip again. North kept holding his hands, but the elf no longer tried to break free. Artagir spread his legs wider and thrusted into him, burying his cock deeper into that hot tight hole. He stayed motionless for some time and then began moving back and forth, making it faster little by little. Each thrust made the elf moan loudly. Once again he involuntarily started to move his hips towards Artagir. In a short while the young man gripped his hips and groaned as he shook from his orgasm and shoot a fountain of sperm deep inside the elf’s body. Breathing heavily, Artagir bent forward, laid atop of Gilmorn and nestled up his head to his chest.

North released the elf’s hands. He suddenly took him by the chin, turned him face to him and kissed his mouth hungrily.

“Move aside, Art,” he said after breaking the kiss, and took his place between the elf’s legs as soon as Artagir obeyed.

Gilmorn cried out when North’s cock entered his stretched anus, still slick from Artagir’s come. To be taken by the second man so soon after the first one was painful, but pain was nothing compared to burning pleasure that seized him. North wasn’t going to spare him, he was as fierce as usual, taking him as if he cared only for his own pleasure, thrusting into him so violently as if he wanted to tear his body apart. Gilmorn clutched the sheets tight and forgot absolutely everything as he wriggled shamelessly, wishing for only one thing: for North not to stop, not to change his position that enabled him to penetrate so deep he touched the secret place that could give incredible pleasure, sharp, painful yet so unbelievably delightful.

North forced him onto his cock by the hips, and Gilmorn made a constrained sound that resembled a sobbing. His body trembled in unison with that of the man, who shook with his orgasm. Instinctively he clasped his knees around North’s hips to prevent breaking loose, and pressed his palm to his mouth to muffle desperate screams, threatening to escape his lips.

The man slipped out from his body and leaned back at the footboard.

“Oh Morgoth Bauglir, it feels so good… That elvish slut makes me work hard every fucking time, but it’s worth the effort.”

Gilmorn turned to his side and curled up in a ball, hiding his face in his palms as he tried to still his heart that was beating like crazy. His face was burning from shame. Once again he couldn’t control his body, once again he had betrayed himself. It was so terrible to know that North saw him breathless from pleasure - again - and heard him moan and scream...

Artagir who was still lying next to the elf caressed his hip. His hand crawled between Gilmorn’s legs and gripped his manhood again.

“He’s still hard, Moradan,” the young man said, surprised. “Is that in elvish nature?”

Once again they were discussing him as if he was just an inanimate object. Gilmorn disliked it intensely.

“How should I know, I’ve never fucked any elves before,” North smirked. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Artagir made Gilmorn lay on his back and straddled his hips, still capturing the most intimate part of his body in his frivolous hand.

“Something tells me you want more, elf,” he said with a lewd, mischievous smile and gripped his fingers as if to underline his words.

All of this seemed surreal to Gilmorn. A strange feeling of enchantment raised from the bottom of his soul. He felt something akin to enrapture and ecstasy looking up to that delicate face with tousled blond hair, dampened with sweat of sexual exertion. Candle flames were dancing in Artagir’s eyes along with the flame of desire. He looked like a demon. An evil incarnate, desire personified, lust itself in a human form, a sinner and a libertine beautiful in his sin.

A tattoo on his shoulder, golden jewellery everywhere - on his neck, on his wrists, in his ears -  gave him a vulgar yet erotic look. The elf didn’t have to look closely at his tattoo to recognize the pattern. Of course it was a black and silver dragon with his wings wide open. Artagir wore earrings not only in both ears; his nipples and bellybutton were also pierced and decorated with little golden rings. Gilmorn suddenly wondered how it would feel to touch those rings with his tongue… and got ashamed of his thoughts immediately.

“Tell me, elf, is it in your folk’s nature to always be ready for bed sport?”

Gilmorn clenched his teeth and kept silent.

“Answer him, Gil,” North commanded.

“I’m not… It’s… It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a reaction to the touch,” Gilmorn said with difficulty, his voice hoarse.

“Very interesting,” Artagir observed. “I know people who would give away all their wealth for such a ‘reaction.’ So once you are inflamed, quenching that flame is no easy task?”

“I have already told you, it’s no case of desire. Do you want me to repeat it again, more slowly?”

Artagir laughed quietly and leaned closer to Gilmorn, his hair almost brushing his face.

“Of course, like tears is no case of sorrow and laugh is no case of joy. You lie very clumsily, elf.”

Gilmorn turned away, not wanting to look him in the eye. He said, trying to keep his voice calm and even,

“Please don’t make me speak about things like that. It is not done among the elves.”

He felt Artagir’s palm on his cock again. It began to stroke him slowly, smoothly. Gilmorn thought desperately, “I hate my body. It’s betraying me. How could an elf’s flesh be so weak?”

He clenched his jaws and clawed the sheets willing himself to lie still and to not move into that hand.

“You will speak about anything I want, elf,” Artagir purred.

“I haven’t heard my master’s order to fulfill your every wish,” Gilmorn hissed through clenched teeth.

“Damn it, Moradan, he’s still able to talk back while I’m jerking him off!” Artagir said with a laugh. “Tell me you want me, elf. Tell me you want me to keep going.”

“No!” Gilmorn breathed out.

“What about now?” Artagir moved lower to his knees and licked his cock with his hot wet tongue.

Gilmorn gave out a weak moan.

“You want that, elf? Tell me.”

The mortal’s tongue teased and tortured Gilmorn’s sensitive skin. His every move stroke fire and sent shivers down his body.

“No… Oh Eru… No…” he moaned.

“Art, you will make him go mad,” North said with feigned strictness. “He will never confess that he wants it.”

“Well then, I’ll stop,” Artagir replied, stopped his sweet torture and left Gilmorn shivering and feeling lost.

Artagir rose from the bed, went to the other room and returned with an open bottle of wine drinking straight from it. He laid on the bed next to Gilmorn and caressed his chest and stomach.

“I guess I understand why you are so smitten with him, Moradan,” he said with a strangely thoughtful look on his face. “So delicate, so sensitive… Strong and proud… Shy yet passionate at the same time. And beautiful like every damn elf.”

“Not like every elf, Art. Not at all. I’ve seen enough of them during my lifetime. This one is special.”

“I wonder how come all the brothels in the towns of Men are not brimmed with elvish captives. If men knew how good elves are in bed, they would catch every single one of them and make them their bedslaves, everywhere from Umbar to Ered Luin. Look at him, Moradan, he’s gorgeous! These wonderful pointy ears! These eyes that shine bright as stars! This skin like smooth marble! No body hair, even here.” Artagir’s hand slid down to Gilmorn’s crotch. “And he’s not tired after all our fun, he never even broke a sweat!”

They were discussing him as some rare animal. The thought annoyed Gilmorn. He pursed his lips, turned up his nose and stared at the ceiling.

“Want some wine, elf?” Artagir offered him the bottle.

A timely offer, Gilmorn’s mouth was dry for awhile. He took the bottle gratefully and made a gulp straight from it mimicking Artagir. He wondered how he could be grateful to the person who used him just moments ago every which way as he pleased, mocked him and pestered him with obscene questions.

“If you only knew how indecent you look, elf,” Artagir giggled. “Dishevelled, naked and lying on crumpled sheets with a bottle and a hard-on.”

Gilmorn could quite imagine that, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. He was too tired of the man’s mockery to react to it any more.

Artagir took the bottle back.

“Let’s see how you’ll like this,” he murmured and made a big gulp.

Then he bent down, pressed his lips to Gilmorn’s and opened his mouth with his tongue.

Cool heady liquid began to flow into the elf’s mouth. He closed his eyes, surrendering to that exciting and pleasant feeling. His ears buzzed, his lips burned. He drank the wine from the man's mouth, pressing his mouth to his, silently pleading for more. When there was none, his tongue reached forward on its own accord, to that spring of reviving liquid, to those soft wet lips tasted of spicy wine as he licked every remaining drop of it.

Artagir put his hand on the back of Gilmorn’s head and held him tighter, closer to his lips without breaking the kiss. Their tongues met and danced around each other drawing back and touching again gently and passionately.

And then Gilmorn suddenly realised what he was doing. He screamed, “No!” and turned his head away as far as possible, pressing his palms flat against Artagir’s chest.

Artagir pushed his hands away and threw him flat on his back. He pressed him to the mattress with his body, and the elf could feel Artagir’s breath on his cheek.

The young man smiled triumphally,

“So you know how to kiss after all! Why not, little elf? Didn’t you like it?”

“You took that kiss by deception! I can’t bestow a token of love upon a stranger!” Gilmorn cried out in desperation and hid his face in his palms.

Artagir shook his head surprisingly.

“Moradan, this stubborn elf must drive you crazy every now and then.”

“He does,” North replied melancholically. “Pretty often. To be precise, almost every time he opens his mouth and doesn’t put it to work. By the way, he’s pretty good at it, wanna try?”

“Not right now. I have another idea.”

Artagir reached to the table next to the bed and poured some oil on his palm. He got back to the elf and began lubing the whole length of his still erect cock. Gilmorn laid rigid and tense, with his head thrown back, trying to restrain himself, not to give in into this wonderful caress.

“Moradan, the stiff bastard, will hardly ever give you a chance to be on top, elf. Well, at least on the other side of things,” the man murmured.

Before the elf could guess what he was about to do Artagir set his knees at each side of the elf’s hips and slowly and carefully sank down on his cock.

Gilmorn opened his mouth, but couldn’t make a sound. Only rapid heavy breaths escaped from his lips in time with the movements of the young man on top of him. Up and down. Up and down. The tight orifice enveloped him like a tight glove fitted a hand. Artagir’s hot strong muscles were used to being penetrated like this.

Gilmorn reminded himself he was still being taken, raped, the same as before, didn’t matter that he was “on the other side” now. There was no love, no tenderness, only naked undisguised lust. Depravity. Dirtiness. Baseness. Insanity. Lewdness. Delight...

“Damn, it feels good!” Artagir moaned, throwing his head back.

He took the elf’s hands and put them on his hips to make him hold himself while he was sliding up and down taking Gilmorn’s cock inside. His body heat inflamed the elf, made him tremble with shameless lust as he felt the peak of his pleasure getting closer. Despite himself he dug his fingers into Artagir’s hips while the man made him come, made him burst inside him and eject the essence of life.

“I think your master got bored while we were having fun,” Artagir purred as he got off Gilmorn and made him get up.

Gilmorn glanced at North who was still sitting at the foot of the bed. He leaned back, his leg bent at the knee and the other one outstretched. His eyes seemed dark by candlelight. The elf knew his face expression only too well, it was unruffled, distant. Unlike him North never lost self-control, never let any feelings overtake him completely. It seemed the man was not impressed in the least by the scene that happened moments ago in front of him. But his hard cock which he stroked absentmindedly, his dark and heavy gaze that was fixed at Gilmorn and Artagir as some predator’s, spoke otherwise.

“On your knees, elf.” The young man pushed the elf towards North. “On your knees and please your master. Show me if you’re really good at it.”

With a small sigh Gilmorn kneeled between North’s spread legs and took his cock into his mouth. The man wrapped the elf’s long hair on his palm and dragged him closer. At the same moment Gilmorn felt something hard pressed to his anus. He tried to jerk away, ti utter a protest, but North held him by his hair and pushed his cock deeper into his throat, muffling his cry. Artagir grabbed the elf’s waist and penetrated his body again.

“You’re a damn libertine, Art, you know that?”

The only reply North got was a satisfied purr from the young man as he pushed his hips forward.

“Come on, work with your tongue, sugar,” North ordered Gilmorn and he licked and sucked his cock moaning from pain mixed with pleasure while Artagir was taking him from behind.

The young man came and filled Gilmorn with his semen for the second time during the night. North pushed the elf away and turned him ass first to him. Gilmorn had no reasons to be mistaken about what was going to happen next. He spread his knees, leaned down on his elbows and put his head on his arms as he waited for brutal, merciless, painful penetration.

“Wait, Moradan,” Artagir stopped him. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

“Can you ever have enough?” North asked with admiration in his voice.

“Not tonight, dear, not tonight…”

Artagir raised Gilmorn on his knees, kissed his lips passionately and laid back on the bed wrapping his legs around his waist.

“Take me, pretty elf.”

Seeing Gilmorn hesitate North put his heavy arm on his shoulder and ordered, “Do as he says.”

Gilmorn leaned forward, bend over Artagir and his cock slid inside his hot body as if it had a mind of its own. At the very same moment North grabbed Gilmorn’s shoulders with both hands and drove his cock inside of him from behind.

The elf moaned and threw his head back on North’s shoulder. This was too much for him. It was unbearable. It was like touching bare nerves. He had never felt such strong sensations. It was like everything below his waist was on fire. He barely understood what he was doing when North’s heavy powerful thrusts made him push deeper into the tight orifice between Artagir’s buttocks. Trapped between two hot bodies, he lost any sense of reality. He saw nothing, heard nothing around him. He gave up completely to that sharp pleasure. As soon as North came inside him, Gilmorn felt his own orgasm spilling inside the young man beneath him.

He fell face down on the bed next to Artagir, feeling stunned, exhausted and empty.

Artagir stirred, got his knee out from under him and sat up.

“We have worn out this marvellous creature half to death, it seems,” the elf heard him say. “He’s bleeding, Moradan. And look at those scratches everywhere. I guess we were a little rough.”

A slender hand brushed Gilmorn’s buttocks.

“It's nothing,” North said. “Happens often enough. He’s an elf after all, tender and delicate as a girl. Easily scratched. But then again, he heals quickly. Well, won’t be able to sit for a few days, but who cares. Neither his first time, nor his last,” he laughed. “You know, Art, you have taken his virginity, in a way. He had never fucked anyone before. I mean, with his cock.”

“Really? I have picked the flower of his innocence, haven’t I?” Artagir hugged Gilmorn’s shoulders. “I was your first, elf. Will you remember me? Tell me you will remember me all your immortal life. I deserve that, damn it.”

“We always remember everything that happens to us, it’s our nature,” Gilmorn replied quietly without raising his head.

“What if you could forget? Would you want to remember me? Remember this night?”

“Yes,” the elf’s said almost under his breath. “I would never forget you.”

Because he was North Moradan’s lover, and the elf could never drive anything related to him away from his memory. Those memories could not be burned out even with a red-hot iron. Nothing would make Gilmorn forget what the man had done to him. How he had ruined him, turned him into a lustful dissolute creature.

_Oh Eru… I still want him!_


	5. Chapter 5

“Gil, stop playing unwilling every time I drag you to bed. I know you want me.”

“These are the rules of the game, aren’t they?” Gilmorn replied coldly without looking up. “I am a slave, you are my master. I must think about my master’s pleasure, not my own.”

“The rules of the game could be changed. Tell me how you really feel. I command you.” North grabbed his chin and made him meet his gaze.

Telling the truth wasn’t easy, yet it seemed those green eyes had bewitched him, made him speak out against his will.

His lips were suddenly dry, Gilmorn licked them and said hoarsely,

“I… What have you done to me? I want it all the time. I want you. The desire is so strong it hurts. I hate myself for it, I hate myself for thinking about sex all the time, for wanting you day and night. While I am lying in your bed next to you, sleepless. While I am waiting for you to come back from the ramparts. I want you all the time, every minute of it, even right now.”

“Then ask me,” North’s voice sounded unusually soft.

“How? Should I say, “My lord, please, take me”, like some character from those cheesy romances you keep in your library?”

“You don’t have to say it in so many words. There are also touches, gestures, looks... Were here a girl of my race instead of you, she would quickly learn how to wrap me round her little finger, how to get what she wanted with only batting her eyelashes. Seducing a man is no great feat. Try to learn how to get what you want.”

“What? Any given moment you can spread my legs and fuck me, even make me enjoy it, but it is never enough for you. You want me to seduce you like a woman of pleasure would,” Gilmorn said with bitterness, turning away. “That will never happen.”

The man slid his palm from Gilmorn’s naked knee to the inner side of his thigh.

“I can wait until you ask, my sweet little elf,” he purred.

“You will have to wait for a very long time,” Gilmorn said almost rudely. He tried not to give in to lust that roared in waves throughout his body every time North touched him. “Yet there are only five days left till the end of one-month’s term you have appointed.”

“I remember. But I promised to let only your kinsmen go. Not you.”

The man squeezed his fingers in painful grip over the elf’s tender skin, as if saying eloquently without words, “You are mine!”

Gilmorn took North’s hand off him and moved away.

“The rules of the game could be changed, but the truth would remain the same. I am still your captive, which I can’t forget even for a moment. You are my enemy, North Moradan. You serve the Dark Lord of Mordor. How many… how many Eldar have you killed on a battlefield with your own hand?” he asked, feeling an unpleasant chill down his spine.

“A lot,” North replied tersely without looking away.

“You are a beast… a monster… You are not even ashamed of that…” Gilmorn whispered, drawn into the emerald-green depths of North’s gaze as if bespelled.

“Do you really expect me to make excuses for who I am?” the man laughed sharply. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. This is war. How many Eldar would gladly kill me by their own hand?”

“You had chosen this side yourself, nobody made you. We have to fight because you come to our land, kill our brothers or take them prisoner.”

“When I need something, I come and get it, by force if necessary. Your elvish land is Valinor, why didn’t you stay there?”

“I’m not going to lecture you on the history of the Eldalie, but…” Gilmorn begun.

“Enough!” North said sharply. “I don’t want to decorate your pretty face with bruises, but I’ll have to if you keep going.”

“Because you don’t have other arguments?” Gilmorn challenged him.

“Why are you teasing me, Gil?” The man squeezed his wrist painfully. “Are you trying to suppress the call of the flesh? Or do you want to incite me to another rough fuck that you love so much?”

“Don’t judge others by yourself,” Gilmorn’s tone was dangerously bordering on insolence. “If you think about sex all the time, it doesn’t mean others also do.”

“So what does my sweet pretty elf think about, except sex?”

“That the Dark Lord’s servant would think nothing of betraying me and breaking his word. You kill without remorse, you torture and humiliate your captives, what are my kinsmen’s lives to you?”

“Are you so inclined on getting my blood up?” Only unnatural calm of North’s voice betrayed that he was seething with rage.

“You could let them go right now, North!” Gilmorn said quickly, realizing he had gone too far. “Prove there is compassion and mercy still left in you!”

“No,” the man snapped out. “A deal is a deal. Do you elves even know how to  _ ask _ ?”

At the moment Gilmorn hated him, plain and simple. Why didn’t he want to give his captive a chance to accept the situation… an illusion that he could stay with that stern man voluntarily… to want him...

“I’m not going to ask you anything!” he yelled with desperation and anger, nearly feeling for real the imaginary heavy slap on the face imminent after his outburst.

Yet North didn’t hit him. He caressed the elf’s cheek with the back of his palm, and the dark frightening fire in his gaze died out.

He sighed, “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”

“You would never have got me under different circumstances,” Gilmorn couldn’t help but make an acid remark, in spite of being nearly paralysed with fear of the consequences of such boldness.

“Oh yes. Seducing an elf is a nearly impossible task, you elves being such hypocrites about sex. I wish you to have felt it on your own back one day,” North said, annoyed. He stood up and went out of the room leaving Gilmorn alone.

 

***

 

The hours dragged on, but Gilmorn still couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation. He couldn’t understand neither North nor himself, yet felt some strange satisfaction at the fact that he managed to make the man lose his usual calm.

He was daydreaming with his eyes open as he stretched on the bed, not even noticing how he started to caress himself - on the shoulders, hips, stomach. North was like a forest fire, he burned everything he touched and left the smouldering embers behind him. Gilmorn never thought he would possibly bring himself to say that he wanted North, but it had happened, and Arda didn’t turn upside down.

Accepting one’s weaknesses was the first step of eradicating them. No matter how he would look at it, there seemed to exist some irregularity in his very nature, some distortion of body and soul that made him different from all other Eldar. He was created susceptible to sensual pleasures of the flesh, prone to lust.

Was it evil? Maybe. Could he fight it? He tried and failed. Did it mean that distortion would spread out and eat his soul up as a worm would eat up an apple, giving him over to the darkness? No - if he kept resisting, if he tried to use his weakness for the greater good. If his vicious nature was incorrigible, he had to exploit it in serving the light. He could extract many favors from North for the captives, to set them free or improve their lives. He could soften the heart of that fierce enemy warlord, find out secrets of Mordor. It could be taken into account when he would finally stand Namo’s trial. Maybe that was how he would make up for his disgrace.

He wondered what it could be like to accept his desires and learn how to get what he wanted. What would a kiss given freely be like? What would he feel touching North’s body on his own, without any compulsion, caressing him back? An incredible thought crossed his mind, making him shudder from excitement. In that case North would be dependent of him, become a slave to his lust instead of Gilmorn. He would do a lot for that experience to be repeated. If one can control others with one’s weakness, it was no longer a weakness, but strength.

Gilmorn imagined swapping roles with North, how the man would moan from pleasure in his embrace when the elf’s lips would move across his naked skin. He imagined North lose his pretended indifference the moment the elf would throw his arms around his neck and kiss him first, willing, as greedily and demandingly as North always kissed him. The master would fall into the power of his captive, sharing his bed at his will, under his command.

To imagine the look on North’s face as Gilmorn would tell him shamelessly, “Please, take me, my master, fuck me, do anything you want with me, I will enjoy every moment of our intimacy!”

The thought alone turned Gilmorn on. He would submit to his desire and thereby quench it. He would get rid of the temptation by yielding to it. In North’s own coarse words, “When you get a hard-on, you gotta fuck, not pretend it’s an unfortunate accident.”

Oh yes! North would be in for a surprise when he came back: an elf, hot and ready, aroused and craving for sex! It was something he had never seen in his life and hardly would ever see again. The thought made Gilmorn giggle. At first North would be surely bewildered, and then… Then he would definitely get so excited that his iron will, his damned self-restraint would dissipate at last.

Damn, it was only Gilmorn who got excited so far. A familiar fire flared up in his groin, and his flesh got rock-hard, answering his lewd thoughts. Yet there was no sign of North. It seemed he intended to be out for long and return sometime late at night.

Gilmorn’s hand reached for his cock as if on its own accord. It was the only way left to alleviate his tension. He didn’t like the act, there was something utterly humiliating in satisfying himself with his own hand. Usually he didn’t do it alone, only when North ordered him to and watched the elf burn with shame and desire, stroke himself and get to his climax with flaming cheeks and averted eyes.

Gilmorn’s palm closed around his cock. He began to stroke himself, slowly and shyly at first. What should North do were he to come in right now and see him like that? He wouldn’t probably waste time to take his clothes off, he would just undo his pants, fall on the elf and…

Gilmorn clenched his teeth, but still couldn’t help but moan from a pang of desire that ran throughout his body. His breathing become laboured, he writhed on the bed, moving his hand harder, faster. He imagined North lift his knees up making them touch his chest, grip his hips, enter him roughly, all the way in… He would press his lips to the elf’s, muffle his moans with biting kisses that leave Gilmorn’s lips swollen and hypersensitive… North’s cock would move inside him fierce, powerful, bringing him to the sweetest end...

Gilmorn’s lower abdomen was seized with a sudden spasm, and he came with a moan spilling from his lips and semen spilling into his palm. His heart was beating fast the same as every other time after sexual intercourse, his breath was heavy and shallow. Yet quickly his body relaxed, and a moment later he curled into a ball beneath the sheets and peacefully fell asleep.

 

***

 

He woke up in the dark and didn’t understand straight away what had interrupted his dream. His keen elvish ears made out noise coming from the outside, somewhere from ramparts near the tower. Gilmorn went to the window, threw the shutters open and pressed his face to the bars trying to make out what was going on.

Clash of steel, shouts, smell of something burning, glow of fire. There was a battle raging! The tower wall blocked his view, but it seemed the fight was waged right at the tower’s foot -  _ inside _ the fortress. Impossible!

Then Gilmorn remembered the postern door hidden somewhere in that direction. What if someone had found out about it and forced his way through it into the fortress? Someone? The Men of Gondor! Or… or maybe even elves!

A wild joyful hope sweeped over Gilmorn and made his heart beat like crazy. He quickly got dressed in order to be ready for anything and started to nervously pace the room, every time getting closer to the door quite unintentionally. Then he strained his ears and cautiously tried to turn the door handle. The door was locked as usual, but that didn’t discourage him. Gilmorn started the thorough search of the room looking for something thin and curved he could use to pick the lock. He was no burglar, but there should be no trouble at all for a supreme elvish being to open a locked door.

He was just trying to snap off a suitably twisted metal twig from a candlestick when he heard footsteps, a rustle and a sound of the key turning in the lock.

Even before the door opened he recognized North’s servants by the familiar noise of their movements. In North’s absence they entered his chambers often enough lighting candles, laying the table, bringing the master’s orders. Gilmorn got used to ignoring them. They showed up and disappeared like shadows: silent, schooled, indistinguishable from one another.

He stopped what he was doing, sat down in the armchair and took the first book he could reach. There was no light, but he was an elf and could read even in the dark so that wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.

Light from hallway fell on the floor through the open door. One of the servants stayed outside while the other came in and spoke to Gilmorn,

“The master ordered to bring you downstairs. Please, follow us.”

The elf put his book aside and stood up, vaguely anxious. The servants didn’t look as calm and indifferent as usual. They seemed to be troubled with something, yet trying to hide it.

“What happened?” he asked. “What’s going on down there?”

“We’re not allowed to say.”

Gilmorn shrugged and went through the door. He flinched as he passed by the second servant feeling his nervousness. Everything was different. Could the situation be that serious? But it was not fear they felt, only weird uncertainty. Why were they so nervous if they were following their master’s order? A sudden understanding dawned upon Gilmorn.

“You’re lying! I’m not going any…”

He was cut short by something heavy striking him on the head from behind, and the impenetrable darkness fell upon him.

When he got back to his senses he was carried somewhere across a male’s shoulder. His aching head was hanging a few feet above the floor. He was looking at the stairs. They were carrying him downstairs.

The noise of the fight grew closer. The back of his head hurt, they hit him pretty hard, with a dagger’s handle most likely. His gaze was blurry. He made a weak try to break free and got shaken roughly.

“Stop tossing around!”

He decided to spare his strength and postpone his struggling attempts at least until the dizziness and the ringing in his ears were gone - they prevented him from thinking properly, let alone moving.

He was carried into a small room and thrown on the floor. He sat up rubbing the back of his head and noticed one of the men bolt the door.

He looked the other servant in the eyes and immediately knew. The man’s gaze was so eloquent Gilmorn froze on the spot feeling cold sticky fingers of fear touching his insides. Their intentions towards him were the most foul.

He tried to stand up, but still felt giddy and weak in the knees. He sat down again, looked up at them both from the floor trying to not let his fear show up on his face. It could overcome their uncertainty and  provoke them into action. 

“What do you want?” he asked coldly. “My master will know about this and you will be punished.”

The identical lewd grins appeared on both their faces.

“My, my, isn’t he threatening us,” one of them said mockingly. “Are you going to tell on us, elfling?”

“I most definitely will,” Gilmorn said brusquely and tried to get up again.

They knocked him flat on his back. One of them pressed his legs to the floor, the other gripped his thin wrists. Gilmorn jerked and tried to break free - to no avail. He shifted his gaze from one man to another, wide-eyed, astonished and still unbelieving they could violate their loyalty to North Modaran.

“What are you going to do?” he couldn’t help but ask.

The man spread his legs and dragged him closer. The other one kept holding his hands.

“We’re going to fuck you nicely, whore!” And the man squeezed him painfully between the legs.

Gilmorn tried not to lose self-control in spite of the horror threatening to overcome him. He made a desperate effort to lie still. It wouldn’t do to fight them and arouse them even more. They were still hesitant, they still could listen to reason.

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t do this. You are not allowed to touch me. North will kill you. I promise not to tell him anything if you let me go right now.”

“You won’t tell him anyway.” The man kept pawing at Gilmorn’s groin through the thin fabric of his pants. “When we are done with you, you won’t tell anyone anything.”

He wasn’t talking to Gilmorn, but to himself, for the sole purpose of arousing himself further with words and touches, with anticipation of what they were about to do. Was it too late, could they no longer be stopped?

“You won’t get away with this, even if you kill me. My body would be found. What are you going to tell North? He will hold you responsible in any case. He will punish you so severely you will be sorry for even being born.”

“Yeah, right. If they find you. But wells are so deep down here. We’ll say you have escaped while your people attacked the tower and we were busy fighting them.”

Gilmorn froze. In that case… He heard North’s voice inside his head, “Ten kinsmen of yours will die if you try to escape or kill yourself!” Oh Merciful Eru Iluvatar, these bastards would have their way with him, kill him, throw his body in a hole somewhere, and convince North he had escaped. And then he would slaughter innocent elves! Eru, no!

“Don’t do it!” he pleaded. He wouldn’t fall as low as to plead for his own life, but for the sake of other Eldar, those poor captives… “Please, don’t kill me! I promise I’ll do anything you want, I won’t struggle! I won’t tell North anything, I swear, just don’t kill me!”

They exchanged quick wily glances. The one who was groping Gilmorn pretended to think it over and said as if reluctantly:

“Well, if you are obedient and really do  _ everything _ we want, then maybe we’ll spare you…”

He was obviously and shamelessly lying. The elf felt black despair overwhelming him. He had nothing to lose anymore. Gilmorn strained his muscles, made a sudden jerk, wrung his wrists from the strong grip of the second man and hit the first one in the face. The pain in his knuckles was unbearable, his hands were too delicate for a fist fight, but there was no other way.

They were stunned for a short while and let go of him. He tried to jump on his feet, but the fingers wrapped around his ankle and dragged him down again. The first one pressed him to the floor with all his weight, and the second gripped his wrists again. The first one tried to pull down Gilmorn’s pants as he muttered through his teeth,

“You want to fight, elvish scum, huh? I’ll show you fight, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll squeal like a pig, you worthless trash!”

Gilmorn wriggled and kicked violently, not letting him taking his pants off. Finally he managed to hit him in the ribs with his knee, and the man flinched back yelling, “Bitch!” and hit Gilmorn in the face hard.

And then again. And again. The elf saw stars, the whole constellations of them, and his body went limp instantly.

“Come on, lift him up.”

They dragged Gilmorn to his feet and twisted his arms behind his back. The man hit him in the stomach a few times and the elf folded in two opening his mouth in a silent scream.

“Wanna make more trouble, bitch?”

Their hands tore his tunic off, touched and pawed the naked skin of his stomach and chest.

“Hurry up, fuck him already, what are you waiting for?”

“Shut up, let me feel him up first. I’ve never touched an elf before. We have lots of time, no need to hurry. I wanna enjoy him every which way and gonna make him remember it.”

The man pulled Gilmorn closer and tortured his mouth with his. Gilmorn was barely able to breath from disgust. He tried to turn away his face but couldn’t, so he bit the servant’s lip instead. The man cried out and recoiled from him, wiping the blood from his lip and looking at it incredulously.

“Bastard!” He hit Gilmorn in the face again. “Spreading your legs for the master but not willing to spread for me? Look at him, all high and mighty, I’m gonna put you in your place…”

Blows rained on the elf, his sight went blurry, his head began to swim. He slipped down on the floor when they let him go, pressed his cheek to the cold slabs and closed his eyes.

His blood ran cold from horror. He didn’t feel so terrified and disgusted even when North was raping him. Then he felt rage, desperation, shame, humiliation, which boiled his blood and burned his body, even though it was no heat of desire.

Now the thought of those hands tearing his clothes off and defiling every single inch of his body opened a loathsome and cold void inside him. They would take turns with him… It should hardly be as painful as his first times with North, he was not as tight now as he used to be. He was no longer a virgin - that thought nearly made him laugh bitterly.

Why struggle? It’s not like it never happened to him before. He could yield and spare himself the pain, it all would go down faster, easier. But his body rebelled shuddering with disgust. He got used to being taken passionately, with sincerity and desire. North cared for his pleasure, caressed him skilfully, diligently. He was a precious possession for North, someone to value, to cherish.

For these two he was just a thing, something they could use and throw away once they satisfied their lust. Oh Eru, have mercy, how repulsive! He would beg them to get through with it as fast as possible, but they’d kill him once they had their fun. And he didn’t want to die, for a long time now.

They pulled his pants down and made him stand upright. One of them took him by the waist and ravaged his mouth with his rough tongue, put the elf’s hand on his hard cock. The other one spread his buttocks and shoved his cruel fingers inside tormenting his flesh and preparing him to be defiled by those blackguards. His soul screamed from terror and begged for help although no sound escaped his lips. “Eldar! Eldar! Can you hear me? I’m scared… I don’t want to… No! Please!”

He didn’t hear the very first blow upon the door, but the men threw him aside and drew their swords. That was when he realised someone was breaking through the door, without a word yet with terrifying unstoppable force.

The door broke open and suddenly a silver bolt of lightning burst into the room. Steel flashed, followed by a few screams, blood splashing on the floor and two bodies falling. And then he was one step away, and Gilmorn’s breath stopped in awe.

It was a tall elf clad in a silvery chain-mail, with a naked sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. His appearance was so noble and warlike he was like Tulkas or even Manwe himself. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his golden hair streamed like rays of sunlight, his eyes shone with battle rage like sapphire flames. He tore his cloak off, wrapped it around trembling, naked Gilmorn and hugged him.

“I heard you call me. You’re Gilmorn, aren’t you? I was looking for you!”

Sindarin speech sounded like the sweetest music for Gilmorn’s ears, and to the sound of that music his consciousness began to slip away. He felt being lifted up and carried somewhere. He heard voices, but couldn’t make out words, just enjoyed the sound of his native language.

“...I got there in time… These bastards… They almost killed him. He’s all bruises…”

“...Hurry, Eldar, the fight at the southern wall is almost concluded…”

“...That’s all, there is nobody left. Fifty captives, just like Laellin said…”

“...Let’s go, hurry, the main host is returning any time now…”

“...They have sent a pursuit after us…”

“...If only we would make it to the forest…”

“...That’s the Men of Gondor! They attacked their rear!..”

“...Victory, brothers! We did it!..”

 

***

 

When Gilmorn came to his senses, there were forest smells around him, and roof of rustling foliage above him. Moonlight seeped through the leaves and branches. Nearby a few fires were lit, he heard quiet laugh and Sindarin speech. Gilmorn was fully clothed again and lying on a cloak covering a bed of grass and leafs not far from a fire.

A tall elf leaned over to him and Gilmorn recognized his saviour. His face looked even more beautiful then he remembered.

Smiling gently, amiably, the elven warrior sat down next to Gilmorn and covered Gilmorn’s hand with his.

“You are safe now, my dear kinsman, for so I hold you,” he said. “I am immensely happy that we succeeded in rescuing you from captivity.”

“I…” Gilmorn’s voice faltered. He stayed silent for a while and fought back tears that welled up in his eyes. “My eternal gratitude, my life, my blood is yours forever.”

“Doing our duty is gratitude in itself, dear kinsman.”

“But how did you manage to accomplish this feat worthy of songs and legends?”

“Don’t exaggerate, brother mine,” the elf laughed quietly, his laugh deep, pleasant, friendly. “It was quite easy. No one of us was killed or even seriously wounded. Laellin, the elf who was released from captivity thanks to you, showed us the postern door. We waited till the Men of Gondor attacked at the southern wall and the main host of Morannon was drawn there. Then we lured foolish orcs out of the postern door and forced our way inside. I went to look for you immediately…”

“Wait! The fortress’ commander, North Moradan… He’s a very tall man, with long black hair, clad in black and silver, never wears a helmet in battle. What happened to him? Did you kill him?”

A shadow crossed the elf’s face.

“No, we had no chance to kill him, unfortunately. He deserves death for everything he did to you and other captives. But he wasn’t there when we attacked, he was leading the main host at the southern wall.”

Gilmorn cried out and tried to raise up, tightly squeezing the other elf’s hand without even noticing.

“Then I have to go back! I can’t stay here! I must return to the fortress until it’s too late. He promised to kill ten captives if I try to escape!”

“Calm down, they are safe.” The elf pushed Gilmorn gently, making him lie back. “We have rescued all captives from the fortress.”

“What a marvellous and heroic deed!” Gilmorn looked at him, amazed. “If there is no song of it before long I should do it myself, even with my rather poor poetic skill. But wait… You said you were looking for me?”

“Yes, Laellin said that he owes you his life and I swore to free you no matter what!” the elf exclaimed fervently.

“What exactly did he tell you?” Gilmorn whispered. His tongue barely obeyed him.

The elf immediately blushed, bit his lip and averted his gaze. No words were needed. Gilmorn clenched his teeth and hid his face in his hands. Oh Eru, what a disgrace!

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” he heard the other elf’s quiet voice. “But I cannot lie outright since you’ve asked. Laellin was not himself when we found him twenty days ago, he was delirious, raving. I nursed him back to health and heard everything he said. I wanted to close my ears, I wanted to become deaf, to never be born so that I had never heard it. And I swore to do everything to save you from such a nightmare. No Elda should ever suffer in such a horrible way.”

Gilmorn felt his own face burn red-hot with agonizing, unstoppable shame. He remembered all too well how it went,  _ what  _ exactly North made him do in front of the captive elf. Still hiding his face in his hands, he asked flatly, “Who else knows about it?”

“Nobody!” his saviour quickly exclaimed, touching Gilmorn’s shoulder reassuringly. “If anybody finds out, it won’t be from me. My lips are sealed. The others only know that the commander of the fortress treated you better than the rest trying to entice you into the service of Evil.”

Gilmorn took his hands off his face and glanced at the other elf.

“You probably despise me now,” he said with dark despair.

“How can you say that?” the elf raised his hand and caressed his cheek. His eyes were filled with tender and sad sympathy. “Your self-sacrifice saved at least one life, maybe more. I feel bitter, hurt, crestfallen thinking you were made to face such a difficult choice, but I would not, could not despise you.”

Gilmorn took a deep breath and felt the veil of shame and fear lifted from his heart.

“Now I can pray to Eru for only one thing, and that is to be given an opportunity to repay you for what you’ve done, before I die,” he said. “Please tell me your name so that I know whom I owe my life to.”

With an apologetic smile the other elf replied hurriedly,

“Forgive me, my dear kinsman. In my excitement to finally meet you I forgot to be polite. I serve Elrond Half-Elven, the lord of Imladris, and my name is Glorfindel. May the stars bless the moment of our meeting, dear Gilmorn. I will be proud and happy if you consider me your friend. Something tells me our lives are now entwined.”


End file.
